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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26257600">Ficlet Collection Vol. II</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oilan/pseuds/Oilan'>Oilan</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Les Misérables - Victor Hugo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 05:21:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,533</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26257600</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oilan/pseuds/Oilan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A (second) collection of little Les Mis fics.</p>
<p>Ratings, characters, and relationships in the chapter titles.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Combeferre/Enjolras (Les Misérables)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Nature (G; Enjolras, Jean Prouvaire)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>From a prompt on Tumblr</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“There is a little wood I like to walk in sometimes,” said Prouvaire, his chin in his hand. “It is on the outskirts of the city, and full of wildflowers and dappled sunlight. Oh, Enjolras, you would love it. I have just spent all afternoon laying in the grass, contemplating.”</p><p>Though Prouvaire was sitting across from Enjolras in their corner of the Musain, he still seemed very far away. Enjolras glanced up to give him a noncommittal smile before returning to his reading. Undeterred, Prouvaire continued: “Whenever I am stuck on a piece of writing, or if I have stumbled upon a particularly challenging problem, I go there to think. Thoughts flow freely there, where they are not stuck in the quagmire of the city.” He waited earnestly a few moments for a response, and then demanded, “Enjolras, wouldn’t you like to commune with nature?”</p><p>“Not especially.”</p><p>Prouvaire frowned. “But surely even you have experienced a time when words do not come to you. When you are trying to write, when you know what you want to say but cannot express it. Sometimes to inspire others, you must be inspired yourself. I cannot imagine you, whose speech soars, has never looked to nature and found something to gather from it.”</p><p>“I’m afraid not,” said Enjolras, turning a page of his book.</p><p>Prouvaire was crestfallen, and though he could not have said if Enjolras truly noticed it, he did know that Enjolras finally set down his reading, that his expression was warmer as he said, “There are leaves in your hair,” and reached across the table to brush them away.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Mercy (G; Grantaire, Enjolras, Joly, Bossuet, Courfeyrac)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>From a prompt on Tumblr</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“It’s shocking, the conduct of law students,” Grantaire said, somewhere in the midst of his third bottle of wine. “They spend their days avoiding class, swearing they shall never set foot in the lecture hall, all the while making grand speeches that billiards and grisettes are more worth their time. But look at them now: Practicing law in their free time.”</p>
<p>Grantaire gestured over to the table around which Enjolras, Courfeyrac, and Bossuet, had gathered themselves. </p>
<p>“Feuilly asked them for legal advice on behalf of a fellow artisan,” said Joly, who was no less drunk than Grantaire, but rather more quiet. He reached for the bottle of wine and found it empty. “Shall I ask Gibelotte for another?”</p>
<p>Instead of answering, Grantaire got to his feet to weave his way over to the others. </p>
<p>“Capital R, they are busy!” called Joly, as Gibelotte set down more wine and a large plate of food in front of him. “Come back — who is going to help me eat this cheese?”</p>
<p>“Joly, I am surprised at you, putting brie before our friends! Surely you agree that a rescue mission is a far more pressing endeavor.”</p>
<p>This was said loudly enough to get Bossuet, Enjolras, and Courfeyrac’s attention. Bossuet grinned. </p>
<p>“I am inclined to agree with Joly — working through that plate of brie is an exceptionally important task, and much more appealing than this one. We’ll join you soon.”</p>
<p>“A quarter-hour,” added Courfeyrac, attempting to stem Grantaire’s tide of impatience. It had the opposite effect. </p>
<p>“A quarter-hour! My friends, listen to yourselves. A quarter-hour spent on law, on the very thing you yourselves rally against. Must I beg you?” Staggering, he dropped to his knees and shuffled forward on them, though for all his dramatics, he fought back a smile. “Look at what I have come to! Do you feel no guilt at putting me in this lowly state? You neglect your duties as friends.”</p>
<p>“You would pull us away from duty to another friend,” said Enjolras, frowning. </p>
<p>Grantaire placed a hand on Enjolras' knee and looked up at him in an exaggeratedly supplicating manner. "You would choose one friend over another? I thought all were equal in your ideals."</p>
<p>Enjolras' frown deepened. "Feuilly's friend faces greater consequences at the hands of corrupt laws. You would not face punishment should we neglect this 'duty' towards you."</p>
<p>"Would I not? Perhaps it is punishment of a different kind." Grantaire shook his head and, the wine overwhelming him at last, dropped his forehead to the hand resting on Enjolras' knee. It was fortunate he did so, perhaps, for he missed the look of deep disdain that was cast upon him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Rabbit (G; Enjolras/Combeferre)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>From a 3-sentence fic prompt on Tumblr</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Even in the open air ball at Sceaux, the press of the crowd could be overwhelming, and so Enjolras and Combeferre took the first opportunity they could to slip away from their friends and walk together in the arbor encircling the party. They did not speak, arm-in-arm, their silence both comfortable and pointed all at once, until Enjolras halted their progress in the shadow of a large oak tree. The briefest pause — and Enjolras gently pulled Combeferre against him, Combeferre following with a smile, and their only witness a rabbit who gazed at them for a moment before darting back into the surrounding darkness.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Dessert (G; Courfeyrac, Enjolras)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>From a prompt on Tumblr</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“<em>Law students studying for an exam</em>. Have you ever heard of anything more ridiculous in your life? Outrageous!” Courfeyrac punctuated the exclamation by flinging his book down to the desk, and sat back in his chair as though refusing to do anything more.</p><p></p><div>
  <p>“It would be imprudent to be removed from <em>all</em> of our classes this early in the term,” said Enjolras, though from the expression he was giving his textbook, he was no less annoyed than Courfeyrac.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Nonsense,” scoffed Courfeyrac. “That has never stopped our friends before. Why, Bahorel frequently boasts that in his fifth year, he was expelled from everything within three days."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“I’m not sure I wish to be a student for so long,” said Enjolras and, leaving it at that, focused his attention more on his book.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Courfeyrac let his eyes wander around the room, searching for anything that could provide even a moment’s distraction, and his gaze fell on his battered cupboard near the stove. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“We need a break,” he said decidedly, rising and moving to retrieve something from the cupboard. “How do you expect to retain any facts about our monarchical laws and tyrannical judicial system if you do not allow your mind a short reprieve from such information? I have something in here that will be just the thing to reward our hard work-“ </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He fell silent. After a moment, Enjolras looked over his shoulder to see Courfeyrac holding a <em>tarte tatin</em> in his hands — or at least, the tin that had once contained a <em>tarte tatin</em>. There was only one thin piece left. Courfeyrac sighed at it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“I forgot — I had some, euh, <em>company</em> over last night, and she and I- Well, I thought there was more of this left.” He frowned. “You should have the last piece, Enjolras. It’s from a particularly good patisserie!”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“No, thank you,” said Enjolras, though he eyed it hopefully — <em>tarte tatin</em> was his favorite. “It is yours, Courfeyrac.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“I insist!” </p>
</div><div>
  <p>But Enjolras shook his head. Courfeyrac looked thoughtful for a moment before turning again to his cupboard and rummaging through it, producing two forks.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“If our studies do not reflect our principles, then at least our desserts should.” He gave one fork to Enjolras and then set the tin atop their books and papers. “We shall share it. <em>Égalité</em> is needed here as much as anywhere.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“<em>Fraternité</em> as well,” said Enjolras, casting Courfeyrac a smile before taking a bite. </p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Extinguished (T; Courfeyrac)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The sword-cane had broken, and the rest of his arsenal was quickly spent. Courfeyrac had only one saddle pistol left; he would have to make it count until the end.</p><p>There was a wound in his stomach; blood poured over his hand as he clenched it. When had it happened? Had it been a bullet or a bayonet that was driven into him? He could not remember it, only that at some point he had opened his mouth to draw breath and found that he couldn't.</p><p>Gunpowder smoke stung his eyes, obscuring everything around him. There were only confused shapes that flickered in and out, and flashes from guns. All sound -- the shouts, the cries, even the gunfire -- faded into a single muffled hum. Where were his friends? He remembered, as though it had happened long ago, Feuilly's sabre cutting through the air on his left, Bossuet falling to the ground suddenly on his other side. He had been surrounded by them all, at the very center of the barricade, but now he was alone and wishing they were nearer to him. Perhaps Combeferre would be able to explain the darkness gathering at the edges of his vision. Had it not been a bright summer afternoon just a short while ago? Perhaps if he could find Enjolras, he would be able to illuminate it again.</p><p>A shape loomed up in front of him through the smoke: A guardsmen was scaling the crest of the ruined barricade, his silhouette coming ever nearer. Courfeyrac steeled himself, and staggered forward with gritted teeth, raising his gun. He fired, and the shape was gone. It was his last bullet. Courfeyrac stumbled forward. It occurred to him, vaguely, his thoughts bubbling up like viscous mud, that he should contemplate what he should do next, but there was a blinding flash very near to him and everything was extinguished.</p>
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